Meg & Leo: Chapter 9

When will I see you again?

Before we dive in, here’s a recap of all the previous chapters for you to catch up - last time we were with Meg and Leo they’d just shared their first kisses…

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 

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Days later I still can’t help the kicking feet, goofy grin and happy noises combo that comes over me every time I think about Saturday night with Leo.

After we kissed some more, he walked me home. Only it took a lot longer than it should have done because we seemed to stop at every other corner to kiss again. And then we would amble slowly a bit further, holding hands and trading glances that swapped between shy and heated.

It was perfect.

Even when he kissed me goodnight on the doorstep and we suddenly found ourselves bathed in a spotlight as Jas flicked the porch light on and off where she’d obviously been watching for us to arrive, we were able to laugh about it before he left, and I waited until he crossed the road back towards the station and I couldn’t see him anymore.

Jas finally managed to haul me inside where she and Sal had clearly been waiting up to debrief my evening. They didn’t really get the classical music thing, but they made all the appropriate squealy and swoony noises when I relived the kisses for them, my face burning from the very happy blushes.

I didn’t think it was likely that I’d sleep anyway, with images of Leo replaying in my mind. Leo at the piano, Leo in his tux, Leo walking towards me, Leo pulling me into his arms and half growling my name before his mouth claimed mine. And then my phone lit up with a message from him, letting me know he was home safely. We texted for a while about nothing in particular until he wished me sweet dreams and I eventually drifted off with a smile on my face.

The same smile that has kept me going through a few insanely busy days at work with more grumpy customers than I’ve seen in a while. Must be the winter blues. But even they couldn’t take the shine off how happy I felt. Well, maybe a little bit, which is why I’m now spending my day off curled up in bed with a book.

I very rarely allow myself a duvet day, but with freezing rain outside and barely any daylight, I didn’t feel inspired to pick up my knitting or embroidery, and housework can wait a few more days, so cosying up under the covers and getting lost in the pages seemed like the best plan.

And if the book I’m reading is making me think of Leo? Well that’s just an extra pleasant bonus.

I treated myself to the newest Freya Venus novel, and let me tell you, it does not disappoint! This woman can do no wrong when it comes to writing the sexiest, steamiest, passionate but thoughtful and heart-wrenching romances with perfectly imperfect characters and just the right amount of tension to make the happy ever after worth the wait.

This time she’s gone historical, and if I hadn’t already been having fantasies about being a Regency damsel falling in love with the dashing duke, this one definitely fuelled the fire.

All I could see in every description of the hero was Leo. His tall figure presented in impeccably tailored breeches and jacket, the sweep of his hair over the high collar of a pristine white shirt, the secret glint in his eye behind the polite society smile.

And then I got to the scene where the duke rides hell for leather across the moors through a storm to reach the heroine, leaping from his horse with that white shirt billowing in the wind, striding up to her to declare his undying love.

All I can see in my mind’s eye is Leo. Leo’s face. Leo’s brows drawn together in concern and fear over dark eyes ablaze with desire. Leo’s mouth. Leo’s broad shoulders, muscled chest and long legs. Leo’s hands reaching out…

As the story reaches its amorous climax, my body fairly vibrates with barely restrained energy. With real memories of Leo’s kisses mixing with the fictional possibilities, my imagination is running wild and taking my body with it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this turned on from reading a book in my life. My skin feels like it’s electrified and desperate to attract his touch, my heart is racing and my breath coming in little pants, and heat pools in my pelvis as I have to clench my thighs together in an attempt to soothe the throbbing ache.

My own hands have wandered under my clothes, my fingers cool against the warm skin of my belly. They’re about to dip lower to see what I can do about the urgent pulsing between my legs when my phone pings from the bedside table, alerting me to a new message.

Wrenching my hand free and feeling my cheeks colour even more, as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t, I try to get my breathing and my heart rate under control.

But why shouldn’t I be doing it? Why shouldn’t a woman be able to experience the ultimate pleasure by her own hand (or battery powered assistance, whatever gets it done) when she’s on her own in her own bed on her day off relaxing and minding her own business and fantasising about the unbelievably hot guy who kissed her at the weekend?

Anyway.

Oh, right, message.

I snag my phone and swipe it open.

It’s from Leo.

I smile again, snuggling down to read.

……

I feel like I’ve been existing in an altered state for the last few days. Kissing Meg must have done something to rewrite my DNA because my whole being feels different.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her for a start. Nor dreaming about her. The dreams are an exquisite agony that have me tossing and turning in the sheets and waking up more aroused than I can ever remember, my body desperate for her and my own hand a poor substitute that brings only marginal relief, and also exhausted but unwilling to exchange the dreams for restful slumber if they’re all I can have of her.

It’s a good thing I don’t have a regular job to go to, because there’s absolutely no way I’d be able to function under a strict schedule or someone else’s orders. As it is, I’ve spent far too many hours this week dazedly wandering about my flat, staring out of windows, and then having fits of inspiration at the piano.

I haven’t had a creative spell of composing like this in a long time. And I know it’s her providing the muse of new ideas. Melodies and harmonies, rhythms and sweeping passages of new music. I don’t know what they’ll become yet, but I can feel them working through my system, weaving together into something that moves me. Something that feels like the memories of Saturday night.

Meg hadn’t told me she lived in Greenwich, so getting to walk her home after the concert was a lovely bonus. Particularly as there were so many convenient spots to pause along the way and kiss her again.

Even thinking about it now has my fingers itching to reach out and cup the smooth skin of her cheek, my mouth remembering the taste of her, ears echoing the soft sighs and noises of pleasure she made as she clung to me as tightly as I was holding on to her.

I sent her a message just now, unable to wait any longer for what has become our daily check in with each other. Sometimes just pleasantries, some days insights into her time at work, a glimpse of the scarf she’s knitting.

I asked her what she was doing today, and she’s just replied that she has the day off and is reading in bed.

Before I can think it through too carefully, I take a chance and tap her contact to start a video call.

It only rings three times before she answers, her face filling the screen, but sideways with one cheek cushioned by a pillow, her hair a little mussed, her eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed.

“Hey you,” she says with a smile, her voice coming out a little husky and languorous, as if she hasn’t spoken to anyone else today or just woke up.

My body tightens at the thought of waking up next to her, seeing her lying beside me instead of on the other side of a screen.

“Hey yourself,” I reply with a smile of my own. “So what are you reading?”

I’m sure I see her eyes widen for a split second as her face flushes another shade pinker before she answers.

“Oh…uh…nothing, just a romance novel…” She moves the book in question out of shot before I can see the cover.

“Oh yeah? One of those historical ones you love?” I can’t help the teasing note in my question as I remember discussing her reading preferences. Romance wouldn’t be my go-to genre, but I get why they’re appealing.

“Mmm…maybe…” She twinkles at me, teasing back briefly before she asks, “What are you up to today?”

I lean back into the sofa, relaxing now that the urge to see her face has been somewhat assuaged by the video call.

“Nothing much, mostly just thinking about you and wondering when I can see you again…”

I inject what I hope is some roguish charm into my smile and try not to dwell on the fact that I just admitted to the woman I’ve only met a handful of times that I can’t stop thinking about her.

She really has the prettiest blushes, the colour somehow complementing her colouring rather than fighting against the flaming hair and emerald eyes.

“Well…” she begins, “I had an idea about that…”

She sounds almost shy about suggesting something, but I find it encouraging, and honestly, a turn on, when a woman takes some initiative with date arrangements.

“Do tell.” I sit up a little straighter and wait for her to share.

“How do you feel about early mornings?” she asks, the shyness disappearing behind a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“In general or any one specifically?” I reply, “As a rule I don’t feel strongly one way or the other, but I’m open to being persuaded.”

Meg takes a quick breath before continuing, shifting to slide one hand under her cheek so it rests between her skin and the pillow.

“Would you like to join me for an early breakfast and a walk round Portobello market next Saturday?”

This time she catches her bottom lip nervously with her teeth, and I wish I were there to kiss away the sting. Or perhaps take a gentle nibble myself.

“How early are we talking?” I hedge, knowing I’m going to say yes even if she suggests getting up at 4am. “And next weekend is a long way away…”

“I know, I’m sorry, I have to work this weekend,” she replies as her lips turn down in disappointment that matches my own. “But I like to get over there about eight-ish to grab a coffee and food while the stalls are setting up, and then get first look when they open.”

Well that’s not so early. And the way I’ve been sleeping lately I’ll be up in plenty of time.

“Sure, absolutely, that sounds great. I don’t think I’ve been over there in years.” Which is the truth, but I know I won’t be shopping, I just want to spend whatever time I can with her.

“Great!” Her smile brightens, and I return it with a grin of my own. “I can meet you somewhere on the tube if you like?”

We wrap up our conversation with travel arrangements, our shared excitement palpable. I know mine is at the prospect of seeing Meg again, and I can only hope some of hers is about seeing me, and not just rustling up a bargain at the market. I just wish it wasn’t over a week away. Surely there must be an opportunity to see her before then?